


They Say We Are What We Are (But We Don't Have to Be)

by iwannafucktheguitarist



Series: Drarry Fics [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwannafucktheguitarist/pseuds/iwannafucktheguitarist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has always been in love with Harry Potter, but never thought anything would come of it. Now, after the Battle of Hogwarts, they have a chance to put their differences behind them. But it's not like Harry would return his feelings even if they did become friends, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Say We Are What We Are (But We Don't Have to Be)

**Author's Note:**

> So I'd been wanting to write a Drarry fic for ages, but never got around to it. This thing has been gathering metaphorical dust in my documents folder for months, before I got off my lazy ass and finished it. I'm American, but I tried to write like a Brit for this, because I always get annoyed when an American writes a HP fanfic (or a Doctor Who fanfic, or a Sherlock fanfic), and uses American spelling and slang. That being said, this has not been beta'ed or britpicked, so if I've made any mistakes, please let me know.  
> The title comes from Fall Out Boy's "Immortals". If you haven't bought their new album, idk what you're doing with your life. Seriously, you need to listen to it. Now.  
> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://just-another-nerdy-fanboy.tumblr.com).

The battle was over. The Dark Lord was dead, but so were over fifty people who’d died fighting him. The Weasleys had lost Fred. Harry Potter had lost Lupin and Tonks. And what had Draco lost? His family’s reputation was high on the list. His pride. His best friend, he thought, shuddering at the memory of the flames in the Room of Requirement that had taken Crabbe. And possibly his freedom, he realised, looking down at his left forearm where the Dark Mark was etched into his skin.

Draco hadn’t wanted to be a Death Eater in the end. He’d wanted out ever since he’d failed to kill Dumbledore.  Maybe even before that. But that’s not how the Dark Lord operated. Once you were in, you were in for life. If you tried to get out, you got killed. It was that simple. His cousin Regulus was proof of that. So really, Draco had had no choice. He’d joined because if he hadn’t, Voldemort would have hurt his family. At the time, he’d been proud to serve. But now, looking out over the ruined great hall of Hogwarts, he realised what a mistake he’d made.

Sitting there with his mother and father, watching all the other families, ones who’d fought the Dark Lord, Draco felt so small. He’d been a coward. He thought of how awful he’d been to everyone at Hogwarts, everyone except those in his own House. Including the boy he’d been enamoured with since childhood. Harry Potter.

People were staring at the Malfoys accusingly. That look that said _You don’t belong here_. Draco did feel out of place amidst the crowd of people. He knew that almost all of them hated him and his family for fighting on Voldemort’s side. When really, Lucius was the one who’d been fighting on Voldemort’s side, while Draco and Narcissa just went along with him. Narcissa never bore the Dark Mark. Draco had only remained on the side of the Death Eaters out of fear. Fear of Voldemort. Fear for himself and his family. In the end even Lucius became disenchanted. But they’d already thrown in their lot with Voldemort, and they couldn’t back out. Now they’d have to face the consequences.

He’d lost family today too. Aunt Bellatrix was gone, killed by Molly Weasley, of all people. And Tonks. He’d never really known Tonks, but he knew she had a young baby at home who was now an orphan. But all in all, Draco got out of the mess relatively unscathed. And he loathed himself for that. He had helped Voldemort. He’d fought with the Death Eaters, not against them. So he’d gone over to the right side in the end. But that didn’t make up for all the things he did in the Dark Lord’s employ. He’d never killed anyone, Muggle or otherwise. He took a bit of comfort in that fact. Especially considering that his first assignment after becoming a Death Eater was to kill Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, who tried to help Draco, even as Draco had his wand raised to kill him. And then was killed by Severus Snape. Snape had died during the battle as well, killed by the Dark Lord. Needlessly, as it turns out, seeing as how Snape was never really the master of the Elder Wand.

And Draco’s mother had risked her own life and lied to the Dark Lord, saying that Harry Potter was dead, because Potter told her Draco was alive. He was only alive because of Harry, he thought, stunned that someone he’d been so cruel toward had risked their own life to save him from the Fiendfyre that Crabbe had so foolishly conjured.

Draco had always liked Harry Potter, though obviously everyone thought the opposite was true. Draco at first had been bitter because Harry had so blatantly refused any offer of friendship. That was the reason for the constant mocking in first year. He’d hoped, foolishly, that they’d get over their rivalry at some point. They never did. After last night, after the battle, maybe things would finally be different. Maybe he and Harry could finally put aside their differences, and work on becoming friends. _Friends,_ he mused. If he could have, he would have been friends with Potter from the very beginning. But Potter had made it all too clear what he thought about Draco when Draco had offered his hand to shake on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago. _I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks,_ Harry had told him, giving him an icy stare. He didn’t even give Draco a chance.

Draco tried to hate him. And everyone thought he did. But he could never quite stop admiring Harry, be it from afar. And maybe—though Draco would hex anyone who said this out loud—just maybe he had a bit of a crush.

Draco had grown up hearing about Harry Potter. His parents hadn’t really had a very good opinion of the Boy Who Lived, but he’d met many people whose reverence for Harry bordered on religion. Draco had been fascinated by Harry’s story.

Of course, it wasn’t just Harry’s fame that drew Draco in. Harry himself was fascinating. Brave, often to the point of idiocy, Harry always thought of others before himself. Harry was aware of his fame, but never used it for personal gain. Yet Harry could be rebellious, very much so. Draco was sure that if anyone but Dumbledore had been Headmaster, Harry would have been expelled at the very least in their second year for the stunt with the flying car.

Their second year. Did Harry really never realise that Draco had been the one to send Dobby to warn him? Against his father’s orders, as well. Lucius hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the plot to open the Chamber of Secrets. But Draco didn’t want Harry to be in danger. Harry was so stubborn, though. Draco had underestimated Potter’s determination that year. In the end everything worked out, except that Potter had freed Dobby, which meant the Malfoys had lost their house-elf. Narcissa had been particularly upset about that, as there was so much work around the manor that Dobby had done, which would now be her responsibility.

Had Potter really never wondered who sent Dobby to warn him? Dobby couldn’t have gone to warn him without an order from one of the Malfoys, so what did Potter think had happened? He probably never gave it a second thought, just took it for granted that someone was looking out for him, because he’s Harry Potter. Sometimes Draco really wished he could hate Harry Potter.

After the Battle, everything was going to change. Draco knew it. He knew he’d be tried as a Death Eater, and most likely spend some time in Azkaban. He’d chosen the losing side, and in the end, it didn’t matter that he was coerced, it didn’t matter that he did it to protect his family; all that mattered was the mark on his left forearm that showed all too clearly which side he’d chosen.

Draco couldn’t understand why Harry had saved him that night, as the flames of the Fiendfyre had consumed the Room of Requirement. If their positions had been reversed, Draco would have done the same, but Harry Potter—the saviour of the wizarding world, the chosen one—was someone worth saving. Draco was…expendable. It was probably just Harry being a Gryffindor, but Draco (foolishly, he thought) wondered if maybe it had been more than that. If maybe Harry had thought Draco was worth saving.

All these thoughts ran round and round in Draco’s mind, but the thought he kept landing on was the question of _why?_ Why had Harry saved him? It was a well-known fact that Harry and Draco were enemies. So why had Harry risked his life to save someone he hated? It didn’t add up.

While Draco had been having all these thoughts, he hadn’t noticed a single thing going on in the Great Hall. When he shook himself out of his thoughts, he saw Potter walking toward him. He turned away quickly, feigning disinterest. Harry tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around and saw jade green eyes and a lightning scar inches away from his face. He started, jerking backward.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Can we talk? Not here?” he asked, looking around at the crowd of people surrounding them.

Why on earth would Potter want to talk to him alone? Draco briefly hoped that Potter was going to confess to being in love with him, but quickly quashed that hope before it had a chance to fully form. That was definitely not going to happen. But maybe he’d find out why Harry had risked his life to save him more than once during the battle in which they had fought on opposite sides. “Alright,” Draco agreed, standing and following Harry out of the hall onto the grounds.

The destruction from the battle wasn’t limited to the castle, it turned out. There were chunks of rubble in the lake, presumably thrown there by the giants who had aided Voldemort and the Death Eaters in their siege of Hogwarts. The Whomping Willow barely had any branches left. Hagrid’s hut was slightly smouldering, and there were scorch marks here and there along the ground.

Draco at first didn’t realise where Harry was leading him. It wasn’t until he saw the trees on either side of him that he realised they were heading into the Forbidden Forest. Draco wondered why whatever conversation they were having needed to take place in the forest. The foolish hope that his feelings were reciprocated sprang up again, this time harder to ignore.

They came to a stop after a few minutes of walking. They were fairly deep in the forest, and Draco couldn’t see the end of the trees. He should probably be afraid, he thought, being alone deep in the forest with someone who saw him as an enemy. But he could never be frightened of Potter. Even in their sixth year, when Potter had used the Sectumsempra curse on him, Draco was never afraid of Harry.

Harry spoke then. “You’re probably wondering why we needed to have a conversation here,” he said, looking around.

“I’m assuming it has something to do with the battle,” Draco said. “Though why you needed to bring me all the way out here to talk about it, I haven’t a clue.”

“I was actually going to thank you,” Harry said, taking Draco by surprise.

“Thank _me_?” Draco repeated, bewildered.

“Without you and your mother, I would be dead. First at the manor, when you pretended not to recognise me, then last night, when your mother told Voldemort I was dead. If you hadn’t done that, Voldemort would have won. Other people may not see it that way, but I do. You helped defeat him.”

Draco was completely stunned.  Potter was thanking him? In Draco’s mind, saving Potter once did not cancel out years of rivalry, even violence, between them. And what of Potter saving him? If anything, Draco should be the one thanking Harry, not the other way round.

“No, I should be apologising, actually. For how I’ve treated you almost the entire time we’ve known each other. I don’t understand why you saved me in the Room of Requirement. I was a Death Eater. I’d tried to kill you before. How could you save me? If I were you, I wouldn’t have bothered saving me. I’m not worth risking your life for. Aren’t we supposed to be nemeses, anyway?” Draco said, smirking a bit at the end.

“A year ago I might have thought that,” Harry said thoughtfully. “But I’d like to change that, if you want. Look at us now. We’ve both matured, we’ve both fought Voldemort, you’ve been through things I can’t even imagine, so why don’t we put the past aside?”

“I’d like that. But I still don’t understand why you saved me. Why did you want to save my life— _twice_ —during the battle? I was a Death Eater. I was an enemy to you.”

“I guess I realised that you were just as much a victim of Voldemort as the rest of us. After what I saw in the manor, I couldn’t hate you anymore.”

“I never hated you, you know,” Draco said without thinking.

“What?” Harry seemed shocked.

Draco hadn’t meant to say that. Dammit. Now what was he supposed to do? Confess to being in love with Potter? Admit he was jealous? He’d rather fight a dragon. Actually, given how easily Potter had fought the Hungarian Horntail in their fourth year, that definitely seemed like a better option.

“I always kind of…admired you,” Draco admitted. There. Admired. That’s a suitably platonic word. “I know you thought I was a stuck-up pretentious brat, and I’ll admit I probably was, but when I offered to be your friend on the Hogwarts Express, I wasn’t doing it with any ulterior motive. I genuinely wanted to be friends.”

“If you’d wanted to be friends, you shouldn’t have insulted the only person who’d been nice to me in my life,” Harry said coolly.

“To be fair, all I knew about the Weasleys at that point was what my father had told me, which didn’t exactly make me want to interact with them.”

“Well, your father is a horrible person. I can’t imagine having to live with him.”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to. But even before I met you, I’d grown up hearing about you; every wizard knew who you were. I was fascinated. In our first year, I was jealous of all the attention you got, and how everyone seemed to treat you specially because of who you were. I actually _am_ good at potions and Quidditch, by the way. My father didn’t buy my place as Slytherin’s Seeker.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry said.

“I’m not the horrible person you made me out to be,” Draco replied.

“I should probably apologise for using Sectumsempra that time, as well.”

“I still have the scars,” Draco told him. “Curse scars can’t be removed. Of course, you know that,” he said, gesturing at the lightning bolt on Harry’s forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I honestly didn’t know what the spell did.”

“You’re so daft, Potter,” Draco said, but this time, he wasn’t using it as an insult, more like friendly banter. “But it’s okay. Water under the bridge, right? Why don’t we just start over?”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said.

They looked at each other for a good while, and it took all of Draco’s willpower not to lean in and kiss Harry. That would be bad. Very bad. They’d just decided to become friends, and Draco would not screw that up by kissing Potter. No matter how much he wanted to.

But there was something in Potter’s eyes that said that maybe he did reciprocate. There was something in his gaze that Draco couldn’t quite recognise, but he hoped it meant that Potter felt the same.

Something tangible shifted as they looked at each other. There was a sort of electricity in the air; like a storm about to break. Harry looked at Draco’s lips, and Draco could scarcely believe what was happening. He let himself believe for a second that maybe, just maybe, his feelings were reciprocated. He wasn’t exactly sure who leaned in first, just that one moment, they were just looking at each other, and the next, Harry’s lips were suddenly on his. He froze in shock, amazed that this was finally happening, after years of secretly wanting Potter, pretending to hate him.

Potter started to pull away, but Draco pulled him back in, pressing their lips together greedily, like this was the only chance he’d get to kiss him, which it very well could be. Draco pulled Potter closer, deepening the kiss. If this was the only time he’d get to kiss him, he was going to make it as good as he possibly could. Then Potter’s hands were in his hair, tangling in the white-blond locks as the kiss got more heated.

They kissed for what seemed like forever to Draco, and he lost himself in the sensations of being close to Potter like this; something that he’d always dreamed of, though not daring to admit that to anyone, barely admitting it to himself. After a while; it could have been seconds or hours; Draco didn’t know, and honestly didn’t care, the pulled apart, both breathless.

“How long?” Draco asked Harry.

“What?”

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I don’t know,” Harry replied. “I guess since sixth year. How long has it been for you?”

“Always,” Draco said. “I’ve always wanted you; I just never thought it’d happen. What would Harry Potter—the Boy Who Lived, the Saviour of the Wizarding World—want with a Death Eater?”

“I don’t think of you like that anymore. There was a time when I was convinced that you and your family—and Slytherins in general—were all evil, but this war has changed my view on a lot of things. It wasn’t your fault,” Harry told him. “Voldemort was threatening your family. You did what you had to do.”

“I thought you hated me,” Draco told him.

“I thought the same about you. And I used to hate you. Now I don’t.”

“I never hated you. I envied you, honestly.”

“Well, this can be a fresh start, for both of us.”

“What are we? Are we friends now, or…something else?” Draco was a bit confused. He’d thought Harry hated him for years, and now they’d just sneaked away into the Forbidden Forest for a bit of snogging. Okay, that wasn’t their intention when they came here, but it still happened.

“I don’t know. But we can figure it out.”

“Weasley is going to thrilled with this revelation,” Draco said sarcastically.

“Ron will just have to accept it. Hermione’ll be fine with it, I think.”

“After I called her a Mudblood and she was tortured in my house?” Draco asked dubiously.

“She knows you’ve changed, and the torture wasn’t your fault. That was Bellatrix. You could hardly intervene; if you had, Voldemort would have killed you and your family.”

“What about Weasley’s sister? I mean, my father almost got her killed in her first year, and she’s in love with you and all that.”

“Ginny’ll deal with it. She’s strong,” Harry said. “We’d better get back to the castle.”

And with that, Harry and Draco walked up towards the castle of Hogwarts hand in hand. Neither of them knew what was going to happen now, but they had each other, and that was enough for now.


End file.
